


Mystical Beast

by AllThingsEnd



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Centaur, Deer, Hannibal - Freeform, Hunter - Freeform, Hunting, Murder, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThingsEnd/pseuds/AllThingsEnd
Summary: Jack brings Will to a crime scene in the middle of the woods for him to analyze. Basically I just had a murder idea and wrote it down in Hannibal style. Let me know what you think.





	

“Everybody away. Now.” Jack Crawford’s voice drove everyone from the scene except for he and Will Graham. Jack drew into the shadows to observe. Will exhaled the air in his lungs, squaring his shoulders. He erased Jack from the scene. He cleared the broken sticks from the forest floor, and watched as the blood ran up the bodies and back under the skin, and as the two figures were unstitched and separated, and reunited with their proper counterparts. He backed away from the scene, and soon all but vanished into the semi-darkness of the early morning, and watched from afar as things were set into motion.  
I find the man easily. He gives himself away with the glowing nib of his cigarette. His tree stand is ancient, built of old wood nailed hastily to the trunk of the tree. I wait patiently, silently until he lifts his gun, and at the same moment he pulls his trigger, I fire one bullet into the truss beneath the stand, and before he can react to the sudden noise, he is falling. He hits the frozen ground and already an arm is broken. The man looks around and finds me.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?? You could have killed me!”  
“Not yet.”  
His pain and anger turn to confusion, then to fear. I am on upon him in moments. I kick the side of his head hard, then straddle his waist and wrap my hands around his throat. His fists flail until he lands a blow at my temple with his good, and I fall off of him. He stands and begins to run away, but I grab one of his ankles and he falls heavily on his face.  
“What do you want? What are you doing?”  “You cannot give me what I want. You have already taken it from me.”  
I pull myself up his body by grabbing fistfuls of his clothing until I am again straddling his abdomen, and my hands move one again toward his neck, closing around it with an iron grip. His fingers pull in vain at mine, his feet kick helplessly. And then he slows, as he is drained of life. I watch as he goes limp, and his eyes die.  
I leave his body to find the animal he shot. The deer is dead; the bullet had gone through his neck, and he is slick in his own blood. I behead him where he lies, and drag the body back toward the man. There, I use the same tool to sever the man in two, and then I get to my purpose. It takes me hours, but I grow neither bored nor tired as I sew the torso of the man to the body of the buck. I use durable fishing line, and thread it through not only the skin, but thick swatches of flesh, so that neither the line nor the beasts will tear. I then move to his head, and I carve out the man’s eyes with a hunting knife I found on his person, and enclose them in his own hands, sticking his fingers to his palms so the organs do not fall free. From my bag I take two antlers. These are not the antlers of the freshly dead buck. No, these antlers I have had with me for some time. They are the reason I am here. I take the man’s head in the crook of one of my arms, almost carefully, and then with brutal force, I ram one of the antlers into his skull, cracking the bone, imbedding the foreign appending into the man’s head. I do this with the other antler, on the other side of his head. I give him the antlers he killed to get.  
I tie a noose with the rope I brought with me, and slip it around the man’s neck. I sling the other end around a branch high above us, and begin to pull. My creation rises, a mystical beast, until only the deer’s two back hooves are on the ground. The man’s head is forced to look up by the noose, almost as though he is issuing a war cry as he rears, ready for battle. But no more shall he kill the innocents that deserves to live.  
Will comes back to himself.  
“The killer and victim were strangers,” he says aloud. Jack materializes from the shadows. “The killer wanted to prevent this man from hurting more animals.”  
“This doesn’t count at hurting animals?”  
“The killer did not kill either deer.”  
“Either? I just see one.”  
“The antlers come from a different deer. One the killer cared for. One this hunter killed a while ago, oblivious to what he was actually doing.” Will took a deep breath. “He won’t kill again.”  
“Not this way.”  
“Not at all. He simply needed to rid the world of this man.”  
“What if he finds another deer to care for, and another hunter kills it?” “That won’t happen. His deer is dead.”


End file.
